


Jean is Nowhere Near as Punk Rock as He Thought

by chromochaotic



Series: Thank You Tumblr [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromochaotic/pseuds/chromochaotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein, with his two-tone undercut and flashing line of cartilage piercings, always seemed to find something to pick at when it came to Marco.</p>
<p>(In which Jean tries to bully the adorableness that is Marco, and it gets thrown back in his face.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Busy "Bodt-y" is the best he could come up with

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have time to update Benvenuto yet but I do have time to procrastinate studying for finals just a tiny bit more, so:
> 
> Here's a short, two-part fic that was all inspired by tumblr user shinebrightlikeastalin's prompt. I'm just pasting it over from my shipping blog now, after months, because... _finals_.

“Haha, dork—OCD much?”

Marco looked up from where he had been carefully aligning his pencils and notebooks on his desk, to glance at the smirking punk in the seat ahead of him. Jean Kirschtein, with his two-tone undercut and flashing line of cartilage piercings, always seemed to find something to pick at when it came to Marco.

The freckled boy tried to let the comment slide off him, like water off an adorable otter’s back. “Just thought I’d straighten up my supplies, since I couldn’t find any other productive things to do in the last two minutes of class.”

Jean rolled his eyes and elbowed Connie (one of his well-known cronies). Jerking his head toward Marco, he sneered, “What a busybody, huh? He can’t loosen up for a minute, even!”

Connie, glancing over, nodded and snickered, “More like a ‘busy Bodt-y,’ huh, Jean?” Even with his edgy buzzed haircut, Connie still managed to look like a complete goof as he smiled at his own joke.

“Heh, yeah—wait.” Jean stared, dumbstruck, at Connie. “Did you just…”

Marco, having sat back through the exchange, let out a small chuckle at the truly unamused hang of Jean’s slack-jawed expression. This brought the delinquent’s attention back, and his eyes narrowed at the derailment of his ridiculing. “What’re you fucking giggling at, nerd?”

Marco gave an almost apologetic smile. “J-just… your face just now…”

“My face?” Jean huffed. “At least I’m not the one with the awkward-ass forehead. And seriously,” he grinned, “did your mom hold the bowl on your head for you, or did you manage this dumb bowl-cut all by yourself?” Jean even jabbed a finger to point at Marco’s perfectly level bangs, but stopped about foot short of the black locks. Marco had noticed something, actually—Jean always seemed about to touch him, but would halt in the middle of his movement, as if he’d run into some kind of forcefield. As if…

The bell rang. One person who had no problem invading Marco’s space, on the other hand, was Eren Jaeger. “Fuck this, Marco, let’s get out of here. You don’t have to listen to this asshole.” Eren had practically ripped himself out of his seat at the sound of the bell, and now grasped Marco’s arm to pull him along.

“A-ah, wait, Eren, I need to put my things in my backpack—” Marco, attempting to turn back to his desk, was tripped up by the way Eren’s fingers still dug into his sleeve. Momentum arrested, Marco jerked back unexpectedly, flailing for a moment before thumping onto the ground.

“Marco!”

Before he could really register that he’d fallen, Marco heard no one else but Jean’s voice calling out in concern. He looked up with wide, bewildered eyes as Jean hopped up from his seat to kneel by Marco.

Haltingly, Jean’s hands reached toward Marco’s general vicinity, and twitched around in the air as if unsure where they could appropriately go in order to assist the tripped boy. Finally, Jean growled and pulled his hands back, instead focusing his flustered glare upward. “God damn it, Eren! Look what your reckless ass did now!” After a few more jarring, awkward gestures, Jean’s expression changed to one of alarm; Marco thought he almost looked trapped, between the closely spaced desks, chairs, and… himself.

“Fuck!” Just as rapidly as he’d neared Marco, Jean managed to spring back toward his desk, snatch his bookbag, and bolt out the room. Connie ran after him, shouting in confusion, while Eren looked guiltily at Marco and others came forward to help him up.

All Marco could think about, though, was the way Jean had reacted; how, when it came down to it, Jean was always smiling when he teased Marco.


	2. Jean's a Fighter, Not a Lover (but maybe he could try)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part's way more feelsy and less "wow Jean such dork many awkward." Also, large amounts of stream-of-consciousness narration.

As much as Jean Kirschtein, high school junior and aspiring punk-ass bully, hated that fucking Eren Jaeger kid, he had to admit they had one thing in common: their lives were all about the struggle.

Granted, Eren’s was more of a struggle for his personal rights, an if-you-do-not-fight-then-you-cannot-win sort of deal, while Jean’s was more of an… interpersonal thing.

See, Jean couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t a blunt, conniving little brat. He does, however, recall the day that he became self-aware of this side of his personality as the same day he decided to shave the bottom half of his head and bleach the top. If people were going to find him provocative, he might as well go all out. He might as well be combative, might as well push everyone away, might as well fight the world.

Jean turned every part of his life into a battle, because if there weren’t some obvious reason like that for other people to dislike him, that _he didn’t want them to_ , then what else… could… it be?

Of course, along came freshman year. Cue: Marco Bodt.

He was Jean’s complete opposite. Pleasantries and niceties came to him as easy as swimming to a fish. He did everything right and had tons of friends. In short, to Jean, he was just asking for a throw down.

And so, during their first week of high school, halfway through homeroom, Jean did the only thing he knew how.

“Hey, Egghead!” he sneered. “I left my pair of goody-two-shoes at home, do you have some I could borrow?”

Marco, in the middle of passing out flyers for some nature-trail cleanup, stopped where he stood in Jean’s direct line of fire. He looked over, and Jean felt a _nice_ twist at the look of pale shock on the other boy’s face.

But Jean’s life was fucking turned upside down when the expression softened, and Marco, well.

He _laughed_.

And it wasn’t even Connie’s dumbass guffaw he gave when he knew Jean was making fun of him but didn’t quite catch it; it was a laugh that said _I see you_.

It was all Jean could do to frown through the icy surprise flowing through his veins. He definitely did not want to chuckle back, did not want to give up the cause. This just meant he had to up his game and fight harder.

So he never let up, never pulled the punches—not that he ever punched Marco. He might’ve shoved him, once or twice at the beginning, but that didn’t even last a semester. No, he always had been and always would be more of a nagger. He picked at people.

The thing was, Marco just seemed to grow wherever Jean tried to chip away.

Like that one time Jean jeered at Marco’s shiny, A+ grade, making a jab at how little life he must have if he slaved away on some worthless paper. Marco smiled, and offered to proofread Jean’s draft before they had to turn in their final essay.

Or that one time Jean scoffed at the stick figures Marco had doodled in his margins. Marco didn’t even bat a (surprisingly long…) eyelash, but instead explained the show they were from and wondered if Jean wanted to watch it sometime.

Or, oh god, that one time Jean just commented on the stupid, goofy winter sweater Marco wore to school in December. Marco replied that it was warm, and felt really nice by the fire, and _fuck_ now Jean was imagining Marco curled up near the fireplace, sipping hot chocolate wrapped up in a blanket, _fuck fuck fuck—_

Fuck, because Jean was grinning instead of leering.

He didn’t want to struggle anymore, he knew deep down that he was losing in him vs. the world, and it was all because of stupid, adorable, amazing Marco Bodt. For Saint Maria’s sake, he even asked if Jean wanted to borrow his scarf after that, in case he was cold.

It was all awful because even if Jean did want to stop… all of this, could he? Could he go back on what he’d done? Even if Marco seemed to think it was all just an act, it wasn’t; Jean still saw most people as another enemy to beat.

And yet. There was that day, when Eren goddamn-stupid-ass-scum-fuck Jaeger made Marco drop to the floor ( _by accident_ , Marco would defend him later). The day Jean called out in panic and knew that the jig was up.

He’d knelt down to help Marco up but just froze, because for the second time ever, Marco looked truly shocked. Why shouldn’t he have? Jean wouldn’t have trusted himself if he’d actually carried out a genuine act of concern, and definitely wouldn’t have forgiven himself for his past fuck ups. Jean couldn’t even bring himself to clasp onto one sweater-vest-clad arm, because if he let Marco in there was no way he’d get out unscathed. Instead, Jean bolted.

And, knowing that he’d never be more to Marco than a thorn in his side, Jean spent the next two weeks just avoiding the other boy. Staying out of his hair. It was the least he could do.

So he told himself, as he dashed out of their last-period class. He chanted the thought like a mantra in his head, _you’re a total pain leave him be leave him be leave him be_. He focused on it with all his being, and felt miserable and tired, but at least he was _safe_ as he rested his forehead against his locker—

And heard Marco calling his name.

—

Marco jogged up to Jean, because enough was enough. For two weeks Jean had refused to meet his eyes. And… and, it had taken Marco two weeks to realize it, but. Well.

He missed Jean. Even if the other didn’t realize it, Marco hadn’t felt victimized by Jean’s remarks ever since he saw that freshman boy’s face years ago. No, in the end, all Jean had ever really done was want a friend. And lately, Jean had even made Marco laugh, and smile, and feel cared for.

Something was even more wrong between them than when they’d first met, a thought Marco confirmed upon finally seeing the other boy’s face as he neared him.

When the other turned around, he wore the most sickened look Marco had seen yet. _Brace yourself_ , Marco thought, anticipating the most scathing remark he’d ever heard from the other boy. _Here it comes—_

"You’re so _beautiful_.”

—

Jean felt his voice crack on the last word. He felt his expression crack when he saw Marco’s blank face.

Just like two weeks ago, Jean whipped away from the scene with as much speed as possible. He made it as far as the bleachers surrounding their school’s baseball diamond when, against all odds, a hand snatched his wrist.

"Jean!"

Trembling, he turned around. “ _What?_ ”

And he was faced with something he didn’t deserve to see, he didn’t want to see. He wrenched his wrist away from the flushed, emotional boy before him, because if he didn’t then he’d simply _lose it all_.

"Look, Jean," Marco panted as he caught his breath. "Listen to me, and don’t interrupt. Okay?"

Jean bit his lip.

“Okay?" Marco said more emphatically.

Unhappily, Jean nodded.

Marco sighed. “Right. I don’t know why you think I’d take something like what you just said negatively, but you obviously do.” Marco cleared his throat and continued. “B-but, I can see that you meant it, and I’d like to say, thank you. Really, Jean. I think, some days, you make me happier than… pretty much anyone else at this school. A-and. And, uh.” Marco glanced away. He took a deep breath, hands twisting up the edge of his sleeves. Finally, he met Jean’s eyes again. “And, one thing I noticed is that, even though you pick on me, you never touch me. I appreciate you showing me that respect b-but I.” His gaze broke away again. “I… wouldn’t mind if you did. You know.”

Jean’s brows furrowed.

"Touch me. If you did, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t mind."

With that hanging in the air, Jean stood rooted to the spot. His thoughts raged like a tempest, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how they were both ridiculously red, and flushed, and there was no way this was real, it had to be a trap because no one really wants to be around him and if he let someone get close it would just hurt more so he should push back but

But, this was Marco. And Marco was asking him to stop. Marco, wonderful, amazing Marco, had gotten… rather close to Jean, and his big brown eyes were just so damn _gorgeous_ that Jean couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand on his cheek.

And, well. Jean didn’t push.


End file.
